


The Game of Thrones Finale - Probably

by DraceDomino



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Crossover, Series Finale, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraceDomino/pseuds/DraceDomino
Summary: This is a little embarassing, but...I was actually hired to write the finale to Game of Thrones.Sorry. A finale. I wrote *A* finale to Game of Thrones. But I think it's as slick as a skateboard kickflip right over George R.R. Martin's fanfiction-hating noggin'.Who wins the Game of Thrones? It's probably not who you think it'll be.





	The Game of Thrones Finale - Probably

The Game of Thrones Finale - Probably  
-Drace Domino

“Well well, Mr. Snow,” Cersei’s tongue passed across the thin slit of her wickedly smirking lips. As she reclined in the surprisingly comfortable seat of the Iron Throne, she cast a venomous glance to the man advancing upon her. “You have a nasty habit of surviving.”

“Hold your tongue, Cersei!” Jon’s response was a sharp and angry bark, and he filled the otherwise empty hall with the sound of his heroic fury. It was just the two of them now - the woman that had orchestrated the ruination of the Stark bloodline, and the noble young hero that sought to reclaim honor for his family. Outside in the city proper war was being waged, though Cersei’s forces had been suffering tremendous losses. As it turned out, Daenerys’ dragons were more than a match for Cersei’s army. Roasted flesh, charcoaled bone, ashen flecks of splintered skin were strewn in the air among the deafening beats of tremendous, leathery wings. With each horrible roar even Jon Snow felt a flinch deep within him, for even though they were his allies he had the good sense to fear and respect a power so enormous.

And Tyrion wasn’t doing too bad either, taking motherfuckers out left and right with his nunchucks.

“Your reign of terror ends today, Cersei,” Jon Snow narrowed his gaze, and as he advanced within ten feet of the Iron Throne slowly drew his blade. The scraping sound as it pulled free of its scabbard had never sung sweeter, for he knew this time its melody was a precursor to blood that was long due. It craved the taste of sanguine vengeance, and Jon Snow would see it fed like the howling hound of whatever this setting calls Hell. Netherrealm? No, shit, that’s Mortal Kombat. Fuck it, that works. Jon raised his sword and called out with a tremendous fury, his righteous voice booming within the hall so loud that he was certain the dragons outside would flinch. “It’s time to join your father in the Netherrealm, Cersei! Get over here!”

If Jon Snow would’ve been paying even the slightest flicker of attention, he would have noticed that the entire time Cersei wore that same satisfied smile across her smug lips. She sat poised and delicate, one knee threaded across the other and her figure resting against the lumbar pillow pressed to the back of the throne. She drummed her fingers across the iron in a bemused cruelty, and as Jon Snow approached her with intent to dispatch rose a delicate wrist to call him to a standstill.

“Hold, Jon Snow,” she bade him, and though her wicked deeds merited not a single ounce of mercy, his honor gave him pause. Once more, without a trace of fear spread across her features Cersei gestured to one of the massive doors leading to the throne room, and as she spoke it began to creak open like the aching stone of statues of ancient kings. “It would please me - as much as my brother’s big sweaty hog does - if you would meet the newest allies of House Lannister.”

As Jon Snow pivoted on a heel, he could see the doors open and Cersei’s greatest allies emerge. The son of Stark was taken aback by their appearance almost immediately, for the five that emerged were lurching, grotesque things with slender, tiny bodies packed into form fitting green breeches. They stood no taller than sturdy lads just barely ready for their first apprenticeship, and they carried exotic crossbows the likes of which Jon had never seen! Tubes of blue and red with no visible bolt nocked within them, yet they lifted their weapons to train them on Jon Snow’s rapidly faltering courage.

Even more worrisome than their weapons, however, was their heads. Whether they wore ghastly helmets or were simply the product of foul experimentation Jon could not yet know, but they had the jaws of a man’s skeleton set with large, bulging eyes and a large cerebrum that indicated telepathic potential. Potentially.

The last thing Jon Snow heard upon his precious mortal coil was the piercing, horrific battle cry of the greatest threat Westeros had ever known.

“ACK ACK ACK, ACK ACK!”

The arcing surge of neon red energy that rioted from the martian blaster struck Jon Snow dead-on, and in a flash of vibrant light turned him into nothing more than a glowing, radiated green skeleton that stood for a few scant fractions of time before collapsing into a smoldering heap. As the clatter of his bones struck the marble floor of the hall of the Iron Throne, Cersei roared with manic delight and gave a thundering, triumphant laugh.

“Bitch didn’t see that coming!”

***

From that point, the battle for the Iron Throne was swiftly won. With the death of Jon Snow serving as the herald cry for a new order, the martian visitors did what they did best: attack. With a clickering, clackering, chirpering call into their communicator the martians in Cersei’s throne room contacted the mothership to begin the proper assault.

Dragons? Dispatched with but a single blast from their disintegrators. As their instantly charred skeletons barrelled to the ground, the martians gleefully bet on which historic Westeros buildings were crushed underneath their remains.

Varys? Brienne? Hodor? All blasted in dramatic and hilarious fashion, unless they were already dead at this point. I don’t know, I wasn’t able to watch past season two of this fucker.  
Tyrion? He’s swinging nunchucks in whatever this setting calls Heaven now. Let’s say the Delta Quadrant wormhole from Deep Space Nine.

The triumphant march of the martians turned even upon Cersei Lannister, because of course it did, they’re fucking martians. The world of Westeros was turned to little more than a scorched orb of futile impotence - a ruined husk of a city devoid of life be it animal, man, plant, or dragon. In the ages that followed those dark sixty-nine hours (nice), all that became of that once lush and verdant kingdom was a festering wasteland filled with obscene martian graffiti.

Also they posed everyone’s skeletons so they were touching each other’s dicks.

The sole survivor of that once great land was none other than Jaime Lannister - Mr. Guts Deep in his Sister Himself - but he was neither able to help his kinsfolk nor even knew of the martian plight.

Because he was trapped in Jumanji and there was nobody left to finish the game.

The End of the Game of Thrones.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo this was written pretty late at night, as a bitter and mature response to finding out that George "Ridge Racer" Martin hates fanfiction.
> 
> I also did a dramatic reading of this story, which you can see over on [my Twitter!](http://www.twitter.com/DraceDomino)


End file.
